


Can't Get No Satisfaction

by cherry3point14



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Assistant!Dean, Boss/Employee Relationship, BossBabe!You, But god knows there may be a quote I don't know, F/M, God I am a trash human, Not The Office as in the TV show, Office AU, There's some pretty hard crushing here, They work in an office, This is pretty basic stuff I mean it's all a setup for one joke, You need to get you some, i just mean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-06-17 17:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15466221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: You are VP of Sales for a company with stores and major distribution links across the country and your executive assistant, and only real friend, is leaving. A temp is brought in to replace her, on probation, for you try him out. Of course, nobody told you that it was a him, or that his name was Dean Winchester, or that you’d want totryhim out.





	1. This could be the start of something new

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Office AU based simply off of [this post](https://cherry3point14.tumblr.com/post/176373893759). It was going to be a little oneshot and then I started writing it and come on. What's another WIP between friends? 
> 
> Dean X Reader.  
> Warnings: a couple of bad words but mostly pining and fluff somewhere along the line. May update tags/rating if smut is on the cards. I don't know. Mature for the eventual dick pic I suppose.
> 
> Reader/Dean POV change at the breaks.

Most days you loved your job. You loved the variety of visiting clients all over your corner of the country, you loved the moment you saw them change their minds because of you and you loved inspiring your teams. Some people were made for jobs like this and you were one of them, nothing quite gave you a thrill like making a sale or teaching someone else how to. It’s just, as Vice President of Sales for the east coast, you made pretty big sales.

Of course, the job had its drawbacks. Meetings that tested your ability to stay awake in the face of unending boredom. Reports so dull that you were sure your eyes might bleed. Not to mention the hours. Responsibility for the biggest sales region meant your hours were rarely nine to five. Honestly, Dolly Parton had no idea how good she had it.

It was fine, obviously. You earned more than enough to account for your hours and over the years you’d curated a good team, every one of them dependable and hardworking. You appreciated the hell out of them and you made sure they knew it.

That’s what made it so difficult to watch one of them leave.

You knew you couldn’t keep Maddy forever. You wished you could, obviously, she had been the best assistant you’d ever had. Constantly trying to impress you, she hadn’t needed to try so hard, she was pretty impressive as it was. Always here before you, left after you, never questioned your hours and pretty much made sure your life ran like clockwork. Unfortunately, she was smart as a whip so after two years you couldn’t ignore her potential anymore and a year after that she was moving on.  

“We all know why we’re here,” you held a plastic champagne flute in your manicured hand and looked over at your favorite employee, well, your friend. “Maddy, the traitor, is defecting to the dangerous world of marketing, leaving us and the field teams scrambling. God knows how many of us will end up at the wrong airport without her reminder emails.” You let your wide, office smile melt into something more genuine, “Mads, I couldn’t be more serious when I say I don’t know what I’ll do without you. But I’m so proud of you and I can’t wait to see you bust your way through that new team of yours until we’re working side by side.”

Everyone shares a collective ‘aww’ as you raise your glass in the air and finish with, “go get ‘em Mads!”

After your surrounding team has mumbled her name and taken a drink she finds herself trapped by people offering some personal congratulations and you find yourself leaning against her desk, watching everyone fawn over her. You’re the boss after all, as friendly as your staff might be with you none of them, save Maddy, were actually your friends. You didn’t have time for friends, which might be why her leaving hits you a little harder than you’d thought it would. For the amount of time you were forced together, she’s become more than an employee.

You linger a few minutes before you slip back inside your office. She was the woman of the hour and she needed to shake every hand and receive every hug. You, however, had a new product pitch that had to be finished before you could even think about leaving for the day.

“Knock, knock. Miss Y/L/N?”

Looking up you see the woman of the hour standing there, a smile on her face and rosy cheeks, you assume from the amount of champagne you’ve seen everyone pour for her.

You lean back and fold your arms over your chest with feigned annoyance on your face, “excuse me, is that how I asked you to address me?”

She laughs at you but doesn’t make any move to come further into your space, she knows not to disturb when you’re trying to work, “so bossy since you stopped being my boss.”

You return your eyes to the screen with a smile. “Stop getting ahead of yourself. You still work for me till Monday. I can’t be expected to brief your replacement. I have absolutely no idea how to run my own life.”

Maddy doesn’t let her own smile waver but her voice turns serious, “you going to have time for one more drink tonight?”

Your sigh alone should be answer enough but you look away from the letters that are turning fuzzy in front of you to apologize properly, “I’m sorry. If this isn’t done tonight then… well, it has to be done tonight. Besides aren’t those lot taking you out?”

She nods having worked for you long enough to understand. “They want to, but I told them my dragon of a boss needs me in early tomorrow to train her newbie. I think they’re planning on ruining me tomorrow night instead.”

“Oh, that’s considerate of them.” You're fine with that, you understand why you're not invited and you're not sure if you'd want to even go. Nobody want's to party with the boss and you don't want to be the person who turns the evening awkward. 

“I thought so too. You need anything else before I head home?” Even with half a bottle of bubbles in her, you can tell the question is genuine. If you asked her to go and photocopy something right this second you knew she would.

You shake your head, “get out of here before I have to fire you. I’m a big girl, I can call my own car,” you wink playfully, “for once.”

* * *

 

His phone rings out its alarm and he groans into his pillow in response. Five fucking AM. He hated five AM and everything it stood for. He hated that his new job required him to see this time in the morning but, it was a considerable jump in pay and an opportunity to get out of being a goddamn temp.

And if there’s one thing he hated more than five AM, it was temping.

He had his morning routine down to a fine art. Shower, coffee, clothes. Always the same order, always out the door in twenty minutes.

What he hadn’t counted on was problems on the F train.

He’s forty-five minutes late when he shows up, including the night guard still sitting at front desk not being able to find his building pass, but his jaw unclenches when he gets to his floor and sees an empty office. Maybe he’s got away with it? Or was the six AM start a joke, to begin with? Hazing the new guy? He’d admittedly thought it pretty fucking ridiculous when he’d heard it.

“Oh my God finally, are you Dean?”

He looks down to realize this tiny woman in front of him appeared from nowhere. She already looks like she’s run half a marathon and shows no intention of stopping considering the piles of product pamphlets in her hands.

“Erm, yeah?”

The pamphlets are shoved into his hands now making the messenger bag hanging loosely from his shoulder drop to the floor. “Good. I’m Maddy and I have one day to show you the ropes. I guess rule number one would be don’t show up nearly an hour late but hopefully, you’re smart enough to know that already.”

He motions to the bright but empty office at the end of the room, “but she’s not…?”

“She’s already in her first meeting genius. So, you’re late meeting her, you’re late for me showing you how she takes her first coffee and you guessed it, you’re late for her first morning run through.”

He cringes in a way that says ‘shit’ without the word needing to be spoken.

“Yep. Now bring those over to my desk, although I suppose it’s yours now, and I’ll try and give you two years of information in the next twenty minutes.”

“I have been an assistant before…” he starts but then he catches what else she said, “why what happens in twenty minutes?”

Maddy smiles wickedly like she’s enjoying this far too much, “oh, that’s when she gets back.”

* * *

 

“I understand the issues you’re dealing with Doug, but my guys have enough to deal with in the upcoming quarter, this is not going to help.” You’re standing outside the meeting room you just exited arguing with your least favorite member of the executive team.

Doug’s smile is tight-lipped and his tone patronizing as ever, “that’s why we have you right? Sell it to them.”

You school your features as you often have to while speaking to the slimy Operations head, also known as the bane of your existence, “sell them a 40% reduction in stock because your Supply Chain team didn’t plan correctly? No problem. And here I was thinking I was here to sell to our clients.”

You spin on your heel and leave, although momentarily satisfied at getting the last word the unavoidable problem plagues you with it’s potential hit to your Q3 targets.

You’re about to storm into your office when you find the glass door being held open for you by a stranger. A handsome, you didn’t see many of those in the office, tall, stranger who keeps his green eyes focused respectfully ahead of him while you slowed to an almost stop in the doorway.

Maddy shouts up from her desk, “that’s Dean, the new me. He finally showed, want to see us in five?”

“Yeah… erm, no.” You remember yourself and the outcome of your first meeting, “Make it fifteen. I need to make a call. Can you get me my breakfast and let Robert know that I need to push lunch until next week?” Although sounding like it, none of it is a question.

You take your eyes off of Dean, who you hadn’t been staring at the entire time you’d been speaking, and head to your desk with a mind to dial your phone fiercely enough to forget your frustrations. Your fingers linger over the keypad as you pick up the headset though. Dean sits back at the desk with Maddy writing down, with a pen and paper you note, every word she’s saying. As much as you spearheaded the paperless office initiative it strikes you as cute that he’s sitting there with his yellow pad and pen, nodding like a bobble head while Maddy talked, you were sure, at a thousand miles per hour.

It’s when the dial tone in your ear disappears and becomes an incessant beep, for you not having dialed, that you think maybe you need to focus. Focus on your job obviously, not on your new assistant, the person working under you, the person it would be incredibly inappropriate for you to have any sorts of feelings towards.

Not that you did. You were just thrown for a second. Nobody had told you that your new assistant was… him.

* * *

 

Y/N liked a coffee every hour from 6am to 11am, which yeah that’s six fucking coffees, after that she switches to iced tea or ice water depending on her mood and it was apparently part of his job to know which one she wanted without her having to ask. Maddy kept promising that she was actually the best boss he could hope for but then these crazy things would slip out of her mouth that made it seem like Maddy might be delusional.

Along with her beverage of choice on the hour, he needed to have a run-down of any calls she’d missed or declined to pick up, and a summary of all her emails for the last hour. That was fine, pretty standard, but then she’d hit him with the sucker punch like the fact that Y/N texts at all hours, seven days a week, so she doesn’t forget anything. And she expects to have summary notes on everything she’d sent the next day.

“You don’t get it. She’s the youngest VP in the company and the youngest woman VP in the industry. She’s a legend. And she’s actually a good person too but she just has quirks. And sometimes those quirks involve you having to bribe an airline to get her a seat on a fully booked flight because the next available flight is her unlucky number.”

“So, she’s crazy?” He finally asks after listening to a couple of stories like this. Don’t get him wrong. He could deal with crazy, he has dealt with crazy before, he just liked to know what he was getting himself in for.

The salary was more than worth a little crazy after all.

Maddy frowns and he thinks maybe he’s offended her. Maybe they have some girl power, sisterhood of traveling pants thing going on.

“No, she’s not crazy. She’s busy being successful. Successful and still looking out for her team of fifty people including those in the field.” Maddy’s eyes are wide and insistent.

Damn. It’s not a feminist thing, it’s a friend thing.

He dips his head in apology, which seems enough for now, but the PDF on her screen, which has been titled ‘So you’re Y/N Y/L/N’s new assistant?’ tells him that he’s not entirely wrong.

It’s forty-nine pages.

He can appreciate that Maddy seems to have a sense of humour with some of the advice she’s written out, and honestly, he’s worked at jobs where they leave you high and dry to figure this stuff out for yourself, so he does appreciate it, but nothing she’s showing him is convincing him of his new bosses sanity.

He can totally understand why she’s loco. He’s not an idiot, clearly, he knows who she is and her reputation. She’s responsible for the +5% growth in the northeast last year while the top eight competing brands had figures in the minus. In one of the hardest years since the recession, she kept things in a plus. He gets that she’s worked hard to get to where she is. So, if he has to make sure that she only ever travels to Washington on Wednesday’s because she likes the alliteration, then so be it.

He just doesn’t get why everyone’s acting like there’s not something wrong with her.

Everyone he’s spoken to, which to be fair is Maddy and only a handful of others, either loves her or at the very least respects her. There’s no complaining about keeping the office at exactly 62 degrees because she runs hot or how she only drinks espresso-based drinks so they don’t have a filter machine on this floor.

That’s the amazing thing. Not her sales figures, or her age or reputation. It’s that nobody seems to hate her.

Although Maddy assures him that if he was asking Doug from Ops or Mark in Finance, he might hear a different story.


	2. Get'cha head in the game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has an idea. You run with it. 
> 
> (Honestly I have no idea what's happening).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: a couple of bad words, an office sleazeball and the IT team are called nerds. Sorry IT people of the world.

Your dumb crush had only lasted three days, at most four. You were better than that, a professional, you’d been called wonder woman in more than one meeting. You didn't have crushes on co-workers and especially not employees. You definitely didn’t have a crush on your own executive assistant.

Because you were over it.

You could call his name now without feeling flustered. You could listen to his run downs without getting distracted watching his lips form out words. And you could certainly take your coffee from him without getting goosebumps when his fingers ghosted over yours.

Because. You. Were. Over. It.

There were bigger fish to fry anyway. The stock shortages were hitting stores, hard, which meant that your area sales managers were dealing with a myriad of disgruntled sales associates. All of which meant only a few weeks into Q3 and things weren’t looking good for the next few months. You were stressed and your people were stressed and the heated emotions being exchanged throughout the business were putting everyone on the edge of their seat. It would have been no surprise if one of the senior team had a mental breakdown within the month.

You look up to the knock at your door and plaster a smile on your worried face as best you can, “Dean?”

It’s the middle of summer in New York so you’re not cruel enough to expect him to wear a jacket but the shirt he’s wearing today is an absolute joke. You may have to send him home. It’s so _fitted_. You swear the moment he puts your drink down in front of you the seam is going to burst from the built-up tension in his bulging bice- nope. Not thinking about that.

“Thanks,” you say with a still forced smile as he starts reading messages from the tablet you’d made him switch to. No assistant of yours was going to kill as many trees as he seemed intent on doing with those yellow notepads.

Halfway through a message from Sabina about the situation in the flagship store and you take a sip of your drink unable to hold back the shudder.

“She says that it’s getting, her word, dire and- sorry, is everything ok?”

Who knows what your face looks like for him to stop mid-message but you find yourself looking up into those emerald eyes and shaking your head to clear the fog, “what?”

“Your drink, is everything ok with it?” He clarifies in a serious tone like it’s the end of the world.

Although your head is still shaking ‘no’, your mouth betrays you as it often does, “I wanted iced tea, not cucumber water. But it’s fine, I’ll drink it. Continue.”

He scowls and it should elicit a reaction of frustration in you. He’s your assistant and he’s scowling at you. He’s only been here three weeks. You _should_ remind him that he’s _your_ assistant. Just like you should also tell him he messed up and insist he fixes it. Not these excuses you’re making. You do none of that. Instead, you notice how his lips pucker and his jaw tightens. Suddenly he puts down his tablet at the end of your desk and picks up the drink from the table, in what would be a snatch were your hands still wrapped around it.

“No. I’ll get you an iced tea.”

He storms out of your office and honestly, you’re not sure what to think. Was he mad at you? He’s the one that made the wrong drink.

* * *

 

He’s a fucking idiot. He’d spent a week reading that dumb PDF, memorizing the stupid thing. She likes ice water on days when it’s 86 or above outside, except in July. She drinks iced tea all of July no matter what. There was some stupid reason but he’s forgotten that as well.

And she was going easy on him for some reason and he hated that too. She’d pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes like it was acid she was drinking but she’d tried to pass it off as nothing. He knew she was crazy but why was she trying to be less crazy for him? Did she not expect him to get things right? Did she already have that low of an opinion of him?

He knew he shouldn’t have reacted like he did but he wanted to prove to her he could do this job and he’d messed up one of the simplest things. Her dumb drink.

Donny tries to talk to him while he’s fixing the new beverage for her but Dean brushes it off. Especially when Donny hisses sympathetically, “you forgot it’s July, huh?”

Did everyone know that July meant iced tea?

When he returns back to her office she’s sitting there reading from his tablet curiously.

He holds a hand out for it once he’s put the new drink in front of her, “Here’s your tea, I’ll get back to-“

“Dean where did this come from?” she interrupts with a finger pointing to some notes he’d written down.

He looks at the words in question as she holds the device out. He’d been talking to Sabina at the time, or he supposes you could call it flirting, he’s good at flirting. Sabina had been going on about the fifth avenue store like it’s on been robbed and he'd been faking sympathy as he’d had an idea, so he’d written it down.

Course, he hadn't expected her to see it and have her finger trailing over the words asking him about it.

“I just had an idea while I was on the phone. Most people are expecting sales to hit in August, but I thought what if we started ours early, beat everyone else to it kind of thing. It was just an idea, I wasn’t expecting you to see it.”

She looks at him like he’s a genius and the glow on her face is enough to make him think he just might be.

“Dean, I need you to get me someone from Finance, not Mark, asap. And call Sabina back and conference her in. I think you might be on to something.” Clearly, she’d been thinking while he’s been out of the room and he can feel the energy spark off of her. It’s a little bit inspiring to see her mind racing turning it into something.

He can feel the tips of his ears turn pink but he thinks it’s because of the how excited she is, nothing to do with her enthusiasm for his idea. He hasn’t seen her this excited in… ever. And yes he’s only been here three weeks now but people should be excited more than once a month.

He takes his tablet back but doesn’t look at it as he nods at her and leaves to take the elevator straight down to the tenth floor. Sure he could have called but she wanted to see someone from Finance asap and nobody turned down Dean Winchester when he showed up at your desk.

* * *

 

Sabina loved the idea. Marketing and VM would be pissed since they’d have to rush through the promo materials but with the mid-August sale starting in three weeks, it shouldn’t really be more than getting the printers to express the order for one store. They wouldn’t normally trial it in the fifth avenue store of all places but at this point, why the hell not? They needed to do something. Go big or go home.

Ellen, Mark’s second in command in Finance, had put together a rough projection in your office and concluded that with the way figures were right now even if the sale bombed it still wouldn’t put too big a dent at the end of year numbers.

You asked Sabina to hold fire announcing this, you’d need to pitch it to Michael first.

That was a whole new problem in of itself.

It’s not that you _thought_ Michael was a sexist pig, it’s just you _knew_ Michael. And the Director of Sales and Marketing would be much more inclined to listen to you if you freshened up first. No matter how awful it made feel to conform to his feminine ideals.

Once you’d dismissed everyone you did something you rarely ever did in your beautiful glass office, you closed the blinds. All the better to hide your shame as you spritzed on some more perfume, took your hair out of its ponytail, giving it a flip, and touched up your lipstick. You had numbers obviously. You had Ellen’s numbers and your own impossible to resist sales charm, it’s not like you would ever do anything. It’s just, Michael liked women to look a certain way and like it or not he was still your boss. Wrapping your proposal up in the proper packaging would only further serve your cause.

Nobody batted an eyelid when you left. They were all used to this and some of the women in your team had done this themselves. It was just common knowledge. Michael, for all his business acumen, was a creep.

At least nobody batted an eyelid, except Dean. If you thought you’d seen a scowl earlier in the day then what you were seeing right now was pure anger. Anger that he was not hiding well. His fingers, after pausing over the keyboard at first sight of you, resumed typing with thunderous clacks of the keys that muted the sound of your heels over the hard floors. And his eyes followed you from your office to the elevator so intensely that you could feel them on you even as the heavy doors closed behind you.

You were used to some amount of shame whenever you had to this. Some small amount of nagging guilt for letting down women everywhere but you normally managed to convince yourself it was for the greater good. Ever since you’d been VP you’d done nothing but elevate your team, including women. Maddy was a perfect example of that, under anyone else she’d still be making coffee and booking cabs. It was only today, standing in the quiet elevator with your laptop under your arm, that you felt dirty in a way that you knew wouldn’t scrub off.

There was no time to dwell though because the doors opened and you were met with Jo’s warm face. She brightened at seeing you and welcomed you before you’d even made it to her desk, “Miss Y/L/N, always a pleasure to see you up here. Although I know you don’t have an appointment.” She grinned in a way that made her look innocent and childish.

“When do I ever come to visit with something as arbitrary as an appointment? Besides I have something brilliant for him, he’ll want to see me.”

She nodded to the sofa opposite her and picked up the phone. Unlike yours, Michael’s office was all thick walls and privacy, which made this so much worse. You instinctively went to bite your lip to ignore the creeping nerves before remembering that freshly applied lipstick. Shaking off the habit you opened your laptop and started pulling your documents up, the quicker you had him convinced the quicker you could leave.

“He said he would love to see his favorite VP.” Jo cheered as she put the phone down.

God, why did everything about this feel one hundred times more hideous today?

Fixing your smile you picked up your laptop from your knees and walked into the lion's den.

“Y/N! Always a pleasure, how is everything down in sales?”

You tried to keep your tone light but there was an undercurrent of sarcasm you couldn’t hide as you sat down opposite him. Unfortunately, you knew he loved it the bite in your words, “you mean since we had our roundtable yesterday morning? Still not great sir.”

Sir. There it was. That twinkle in his eye. All of the VP’s called him sir. It was the way things worked around here. But all of the other VP’s were men so none of them lured that smirk out of him when they said it.

“Hmm.” The sound was more like a moan than a confirmation and you fought to ignore it as he continued. “That is a shame. So, what is it you’ve come to see me about? Not that I mind the visit.”

“Well, actually I think we have an idea to trial that could potentially make a huge difference this quarter.”

You spun your laptop to face him and leaned forward over the desk. So engrossed in your explanation that you didn’t catch the way he looked at your chest as it was barely pushed against the tabletop. You launched into your work until he was finally looking at your face, clinging to your every word. You were impassioned and it showed. Once you were past the numbers you sat back, animated, hands flying about as you explained. This idea was nothing if you didn’t act quickly, you’d get VM and Marketing onside and you’d go to fifth and launch the sale yourself on Monday. You’d talk to Charlie in Digital and get her to co-launch an exclusive online sale for a double boost. If it worked it could be huge, the first store in the shopping district. The competition would be thrown. You’d never done it before but you needed all you needed from Michael was a yes to make it happen.

When you finished you were actually panting a little, your chest heaving from not having taken enough breaths, so you took a deep one to steady yourself as he leaned back in his chair. His signature mulling it over move. Nobody had the heart to tell him it made him look like a Mr. Burns wannabe. That wasn’t exactly something you told the boss. But Michael was smart, that’s how he was sitting in that seat in the first place, and he knew you were smart. He knew this was a good idea or you wouldn’t have brought it to him.

You knew you were going to get the ‘yes’ you just didn’t know how long he’d torture you before he gave it.

“It’s interesting…” He began. Oh ok. A little torture at least.

“It’s all we’ve got sir. I’m not playing the blame game but it’s obvious that Supply Chain issues are hitting hard and sales are what bring in this companies revenue. With this idea, we deplete stock in fifth, sure, but that store is sitting on the biggest stockpile anyway. This is a chance to get rid of all those nonmoving discontinued items before customers have a chance to spend their money anywhere else. Fifth clears some of their shelves ready for when Ops finally can deliver newness into them. Plus we’ll put on a promotion, make a sale purchase and get 10% off in September. We’ll have new stock by then and returning foot traffic. Sets us in good steed in our flagship store ready for the Holidays.”

By God, you were good.

He smirked, he knew you were too. He gets up from his desk faster than you anticipated him moving and did the dreaded, sit on the edge of his desk inches in front of you thing. Not at all inappropriate or weird to have your bosses crotch in front of your face while you look up at him from your chair.

“Obviously, I’m going to say yes. I’m not stupid enough not to.”

The sigh of relief that comes out of you shakes your entire body as you stand up, putting yourself at his height as he continues to lean.

“I know you’re confident about this Y/N but you need to be prepared if this goes wrong. Someone needs to be the fall guy here in case this bites us in the ass. This is our biggest store, as well as online, that you’re playing with.”

It’s a moment of sincerity you don’t often get from Michael. He maintains a strict facade with everyone in the weekly roundtables. It’s a warning obviously, but it’s still sincerity. Maybe that’s why your voice is soft and honest when you answer him.

“I know sir. This is all on me.”

* * *

 

He doesn’t know why he’s so mad. Nobody else seems in the slightest bit interested in what just happened and she’s all of their bosses too. He’d had a weird moment of worry when all the blinds in her office closed but then to see her come out and looking like that? She didn’t need to do that. She shouldn’t have to do that. He’d seen how peppy the idea had made her, like a goddam puppy. He’d given her one little sentence and she’d turned it into this whole plan backed up by numbers and arguments he hadn’t even thought of, she could sell it without reducing herself to… that.

But nobody else cared. If anything they seemed more concerned with the way he sat there grinding his teeth and typing loudly enough that everyone could hear each letter. None of them are stupid enough to ask him what’s wrong though.

It’s thirty grueling minutes before she comes back. Her cheeks are flushed and he hopes, he fucking hopes, it’s just relief. Surely she wouldn’t be smiling that wide if it was anything else. He may have only known her three weeks but she didn’t seem like she wanted to get ahead the sleazy way.

He can’t explain it but he can’t look at her again as she walks back to her office. Even as she stops on her way past and asks him to call Charlie and see if she’s free in an hour. He just nods, because he doesn’t know what will come out if he opens his mouth. He squints at his computer like he’s looking for the number, which he is looking for the number but he doesn’t normally exaggeratedly squint while he’s looking.

She doesn’t linger and her blinds open again as soon as she’s back in her sanctuary. The iced tea he made her is half drunk, ice melted now, but she sips it like it’s fresh from the fridge. Although he hadn’t made eye contact he does watch her on the edge of his vision for a few minutes. He watches the way she picks up the phone to someone and her face lights up as she chatters away. Maybe he’s only watching her because she’s still got her hair down around her face, he hasn’t seen that and it suits her. That’s it. He’s just distracted by the different look.

Distracted and still hoping it’s not what he thought.

Charlie’s assistant confirms she can fit her in at 2:45. Which scares him because it seems like a big enough day that it should already be nearing quitting time. Not that he has a quitting time, he quits when she does.

“Dean?”

That’s his cue. He wanders into your office and notices the still lingering smell of perfume that had wafted by him when you’d gone upstairs. It takes all his will not to let it set him off again. “Yes, Miss Y/L/N.”

He can tell she’s in a good mood because she insists, “please Y/N.” The few times in the past when she’s been frustrated she lets him call her by her last name without issue. “Anyway. We got the go ahead so I’ve got a hectic few days coming up. Did you check in with Charlie?”

“Yes, she can see you in forty-five.”

You roll your eyes playfully, “of course she can. Can’t be away from her super nerds,” if she notices the way his eyes bulge as she talks about the Digital team, she doesn’t falter. “She’s going to make me go to her. That’s fine. Ok, so I’ve sent him an email but I also need you to check in with Gabe while I’m talking to Charlie. I need marketing to cover the costs to expedite the promo materials, I will if we absolutely have to but really that’s their song and dance. I need you to block out my calendar for all of Monday morning until noon, I’ll be with Sabina in store launching the sale to the public. I’ll need the car to pick me up after. Also, I’ll be in store for a few hours on Sunday holding a team meeting with the sales associates. I know I have nothing booked but can you block out Sunday as well just in case someone tries to sneak something in.”

If he didn’t know any better she’d said that all on one breath but it’s so fluid that it’s hard to tell. He got the bullet points anyway, the direct orders and that’ll be enough. He’s so busy keeping up that he doesn’t even smile when she mentions blocking out Sunday. She’s the only one crazy enough to consider working then, nobody else will be ‘sneaking anything in’.

When she notices him stop typing he doesn’t have time to lift his head before she starts up again. Apparently, she only stopped for his benefit.

“Can you get me a new iced tea, please. And a menu for that ramen place in the village that I like. Oh, and are there any burning messages that need my attention?”

He holds back the groan that they’ll be having dinner here tonight. He’d had a date with that cute blonde from the coffee place a few blocks down and maybe he can push it back but that depends what time Y/N decides to leave. If there’s one thing he’s sure of it’s that he's in desperate need of getting some. But he puts it aside, rule number five hundred and something in the Y/N handbook, she’ll let you know by mid-afternoon if she's staying for dinner by asking for a menu.

“Nothing more important than what you’re working on. Just a message from Terry about his figures this week, a few meeting requests for next week, we can go over those later, and a message from Maddy for you to call her.”

He sees her perk up again at the last one and it curls the corner of his mouth as he reaches for the nearly empty glass and leaves.

When he gets back with the drink she’s laughing all free and easy but she spares a mouthed ‘thank you’ and a big smile for him as he sets the glass down.

Dean goes back to his desk to start blocking out her diary when he remembers that he was angry about something earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie to you guys. I was very distracted editing this chapter because I accidently wrote the dick pic chapter and now I am SQUEALING. I cannot get to that chapter fast enough. Sorry if there's any mistakes for my rushed editing in this one my turtle doves.


	3. Bop to the Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh it's been a while hasn't it children of mine? But fear not. I have a posting schedule now that I have committed to and... fuck. Now I gotta finish writing it.
> 
> (This is a quickie. A little pining and a little plot. Let's get to where we need to be.)

You don’t often spend a lot of what you would consider ‘lazy time’ except on Sundays. Sunday’s were all for you. At the very least Sunday mornings were. Every Sunday you’d get up and pad around your apartment in your pajamas, make something decadent to eat and read the paper. It was some suspended reality right out of a cheesy sitcom but it was _your_ suspended reality and you loved it. Those few hours on a Sunday morning were what you worked for the rest of the week.

Today was Eggs Benedict. You didn’t cook a lot, on account of how many days a week you had food delivered to the office for all three meals, but Sunday all bets were off, which is why your cooking repertoire began and ended with brunch.

The morning is peaceful. It’s hot but not to the point that you can’t enjoy your food out on your balcony and let the sounds of the city wrap around you. The dull hum of cars and people below is a comfort. Never being alone even while suspended above it all with your feet crossed on the chair opposite you and your fingers grubby with newspaper ink. Your balcony is mostly glass, like your office, and you love that too. You have nothing to hide and you can see it all while the sun warms your skin.

There’s something stupidly romantic about Sundays.

You’re still sitting out there, a siren interrupting the normal traffic below, feeling the day get warmer still, when your phone buzzes, breaking the spell. Dean’s name flashes across your screen.

**The car will pick you up at 3pm.  
**

You frown at the screen as you type out your reply.

**I didn’t request the car today.**

You have to remind yourself, again, that you should be more annoyed than you are, especially since you are not annoyed in the slightest. But you should be. It’s the company car. Although you’ll be grateful for the air-conditioning you still didn’t tell him, as his boss, to do this.

**You’re working on a Sunday. They should at least pay for your ride.**

That makes you grin. Stupidly. You spend far too long looking over the words on the screen and imagining his thumbs typing them out. Did he do that grin of his while he typed? The one you saw him flash to Liz in HR last week? Doesn’t matter, the message is still the same. He’s looking after you in his own assistant way. And you allow yourself to enjoy the feeling because it’s still Sunday. You were free of responsibilities on Sundays. Like your keeping your not-crush, that you were totally over, in check.

* * *

Rule number one as Y/N’s assistant. He works when she works.

Maddy had stressed that she’ll never ask. Sometimes she’ll flat out say not to show up. But it’s a rule for a reason, if she’s somewhere then he has to be. She might not even need him. He might do absolutely nothing all day, he’s her assistant though so he’s there just in case.

Besides today might be a learning experience or some crap. That’s why he moved halfway across the country right? That’s why he’s spent the last year bumming from building to building temping. He's trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life, learn something, _stop obsessing over his brother._ Sam’s opinion, not his obviously.

The car door opening stops him from reliving that conversation, again, but it’s followed by a short, sharp scream.

“What are you doing here?” She’s clutching at her shirt as her breathing returns to normal like there are imaginary pearls on her chest for her to grab hysterically.

If it were anyone else then he would think surprising her like this is funny, except it’s another reminder that she doesn’t take him seriously. Or she doesn’t think he takes this job seriously.

“I’m your assistant. You work, I work.” He insists as she slides in.

It’s so quiet that he can barely hear it still he swears she mutters, “fucking Maddy” under her breath. Although he can’t really confirm since she’s good at being sneaky, better than he would have imagined. What she actually says, loud enough for him to hear anyway, as she flashes him a too brilliant smile is, “I’m sorry you thought you needed to disturb your weekend Dean. Today is only going to be an hour or so which is why I didn’t ask for you, or the car, but I appreciate the effort.”

Well, at least he got ranked higher than the car.

“It’s the job,” he shrugs as the driver pulls away again, ignoring the warmth at the back of his neck when she says she appreciates him.

* * *

The store is quieter than you’d like. Yes you chose to come late in the day on a Sunday because you didn’t want to disturb the team when they would be busy but this is _dead_. A wave of uncertainty hits you about your big plan tomorrow and fear threatens to engulf you unless you escape the encroaching walls of the store.  

Getting outside you can instantly breathe again and you find dusk settling between buildings when you hit the sidewalk. The reds and oranges are enchanting against the concrete towers surrounding you. Beautiful and distracting.

It’s the last of the Sunday magic and it’s burned into your retinas as you get back into the car. The dull, black windows fading the brilliant colors outside.

“Dean?” You ask as the door closes behind him and he makes himself comfortable next to you.

“What do you need Y/N?”

You gasp, thrown a little off guard, “you called me Y/N.” Obviously, that wasn’t what you were going to say but you’re surprised. And not at all distracted by how your name sounds in his mouth. Fuller than you imagined.

He chuckles lowly, another sound you haven't heard from him before, “it’s the weekend. Cut me some slack.”

His answer hurts you more than it should. What he meant as a friendly response acts as a painful reminder that maybe you should give him a break.

Even though you were about to flash him some company plastic and offer him dinner for all of his hard work your brain hits you with several harsh thoughts at once. The first being that you can’t have a relationship with this man. You can’t even have the dinner you want with him. You can’t take him to a restaurant and insist that you’re both equals since it’s Sunday. Even if you did offer, maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe he’d only say yes because you’re his boss, maybe he’d feel pressured. You’re his _boss_. This is his personal time and working for you means he doesn’t get much of that as it is. And he’d sat quietly in back to back meetings watching you the whole time. Pretending he wasn’t bored. Ignoring the fact that you really hadn’t needed him to waste his time today.

It’s not just a physical thing. It’s not just seeing him fitted shirts that stretch over the tight muscles in his back when he turns around. Or the way the green in his eyes get illuminated by the screen as he reads emails to you. It’s not even watching him sometimes and the way he mouths what he’s typing to himself. The movement of his full lips almost indiscernible unless you have a keen eye, which you apparently did when it came to Dean.

The problem is you can’t replace Maddy with him. Not all coworkers should be friends, even more so, not all bosses and employees should be anything more than that. Being friends with Maddy was like catching lightning in a bottle. Whereas with Dean every interaction toes the line of taking advantage. He works for you. It’s time you remembered that and got your head out of your ass.

“Where do you need a ride to Dean?” Your voice sounds hard, authoritative, and you hate it. But cutting him some slack means you need to stop using him to fulfill your desperate social requirements. It means letting him be a normal person and finding yourself a hobby beyond lusting after him.

It means being a little mean and letting him go.

You can tell that he knows there’s something different. He doesn’t comment on it.

“I can jump on the subway from your apartment.”

You nod sharply, “if you’re sure? I wouldn’t want to waste any more of your Sunday. The driver can take you home if you’d like?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks for the offer Miss Y/L/N.”

Miss Y/L/N. That’s how he lets you know that he heard you loud and clear.

You don’t correct him.

* * *

He’d thought he’d find her talking through a sale with a bunch of shop people boring. He turned up for the simple fact that there was a rule about it. He could have been in a bar drinking beer and eating stale pretzels for dinner. What he hadn’t expected was to find what she did so interesting.

Well, actually the first thing that had impressed him was the fact that she knew everyone’s names. Not in the ‘great weather, we’re having Susan’ kind of way but she actually knew them. She asked someone named Kelly how it was being back from her maternity and during the meeting, she jokingly scolded someone named Todd for a chain email he’d forwarded her last week. Not even Dean remembered that and it was literally his job to filter her emails.

Once she got into it he found himself listening intently the whole damn time. Not once did she mention making targets. She talked about products, getting them amped up just from her energy and she spent half of her time giving them the floor, letting them ask her anything. And they did. They asked her about everything from company plans for next year to shit as petty as getting a budget for new water coolers.

At first, he’d wondered why she’d given up her Sunday afternoon for this but then, as they’re walking the shop floor, he sees what she’s done. He sees a few of them buzzing over things she’d told them, he sees them all smiling brighter and feeling appreciated because the VP came to _their_ store. She’d never have had time for this tomorrow with all the promotional stuff going on so she took a few hours to go in and make the team feel special.

He thinks it’s maybe the first time he’s seen first hand just why people on the team like her so much.

She stops before they leave and winces like she’s in pain. His hands almost leave his sides to hold her upright when instead of collapsing she pulls out a shitty tape recorder from the goddamn nineties.

“I’m sorry that you’re going to have to listen to that all again.”

He can feel the knot on his forehead, “what?”

“It was a toss-up between making you take notes now, which it’s Sunday and you shouldn’t even be here, you should be relaxing like a normal person. Or making you listen to it all again. At least this way you can transcribe it during office hours and I won’t feel quite so bad that you gave up your weekend.” The grimace turns into an apologetic smile and he catches on taking the small silver recorder from her hand.

He’s about to tell her it’s fine but she’s already out the door, sucking in air like there hadn’t been any inside.

What he’s not expecting is the way she turns all business again in the back of the car. He doesn’t even know what’s set her off and if he’s honest, she doesn’t even talk to him like that at the office. He’d write it off as some of her crazy except there had been nothing in the guidebook for what to do when she suddenly hates you.

In the bitter silence of the car, he goes over everything in his head, looking for the rule he’d broken or trying to figure out if there’s a new rule he needs to write down. He’s got nothing. Nothing to have earned him this doghouse, cold shoulder thing she’s pulling. He’s done everything he’s supposed to.

He might not know what it is but he spends the rest of his journey back to his apartment feeling like he did something wrong.

* * *

Social has been amping up the surprise sale all weekend. Tweets, influencers on the brands insta and snapchat stories. The in-store marketing looks great and you’ve taken pictures to send to Gabe with a huge thank you and a promise of lunch. The song and dance outside the store is the only thing that stands out for a few blocks and the culmination of everything puts your mind at ease. This is going to work, it’s going to boost sales. You’re so sure of it. When you finally leave the store for the second time in as many days it’s not fear pushing you out this time. You leave in a rush because you feel like you’re in the way with how many customers there are and that can only be a good thing.

Still your shoulders tense up as the office comes into sight. Any calm that had washed over you as you left fifth avenue now morphing into the memory of last nights mostly silent and horribly strained drive with Dean. You’d been harsher than you cared to be, you never liked to be the bitch boss. Even with employees who weren’t him, or Maddy, you always tried to be a leader but not a monster. You tried to shoot for that sweet spot between in charge and ‘call me Y/N’.

You weren’t obtuse either. You were in denial, sure but you weren’t stupid. It was glaringly obvious why you were having such a hard time balancing your professional relationship with Dean. Because the last thing you wanted was a _professional_ relationship with him.

But, you’d figured last night while you despaired into a glass of red, perhaps that was how to pull this back. Focus on your professional connection. He’d been working for you for nearly a month and you had no idea who he was, or wanted to be, why he was working for you. Nothing. A fact that you actually felt horribly guilty about once you became aware of it.

You’d have to be brave. You’d have to fight yourself to stay focused and you’d have to stop trying to count his damn distracting freckles every time he wandered into your office.

He’s there when the elevator doors open. Even from the opposite end of the room, you can see him holding your office door open as he waits for you.

“Thank you, Dean.” You only linger on his face for a second, enough to see the moment of surprise before he hides it.

He’s relaxed as he follows you, setting a drink and some contracts you know need your approval in front of you, “it all went okay?”

“Better than I could have hoped. It really was a very good idea.”

There’s some hesitancy in his shrug, “I just had the idea, you’re the one who turned it into something.”

It’s a fight to stop your cheeks from blushing but you manage it.

You let him go through the usual as you fire off responses to emails for him to send, meetings to decline or accept, and calls to return. It’s only once he’s finished and turning to leave that you stop him. Time to put on your big girl pants.

“Dean? I’d like you to book in some time on Friday for us to sit down and chat.” How you manage to keep your voice steady is a mystery.

“A chat?” It’s hard to tell if that’s fear you detect.

“Friday is a month that you’ve been here. Company policy is three months probation. I just want to- to check in. Make sure we’re both on the same page.”

He nods before he leaves, “I’ll fit it in.”

His face leaves you wondering if maybe you'd been too harsh again. Your words too formal. Then you remember that keeping everything above board is the new name of the game.


	4. Bet On It

“No. Shit. No.” It was all he heard before he looked up in time to see her head fall into her arms as they rested on the desk. Until this point, he doesn’t think he’s heard her say anything more than ‘heck’ and even that was just one time late after everyone else left. So, for her to be shouting ‘shit’ in the middle of the day, loud enough for him, and he’s sure others, to hear? Well, that’s a problem.

It’s not concern that forces him up from his chair at the sight of her, it’s just, they were supposed to start their meeting five minutes ago. When she hadn’t called him in he was being polite but now maybe he can distract her. That’s all.

He grabs her a drink first, what assistant goes into an appraisal without one? An idiot assistant that’s who. Dean is decidedly not an idiot so it’s with her drink in his hand that he knocks on the glass door like he’s not been dreading hearing what she thinks of him.

“Dean, what are you…?” She looks up at him confused, her question dying on her lips as they form a perfect ‘o’.

He wants to be annoyed that she forgot about him. Frustration is his knee-jerk reaction. Except there are these worry lines on her face that he hasn’t seen before so he doubles his efforts to let his own emotions go with a heavy swallow.

“I’m so sorry Dean, please sit down.” She searches for a minute as she speaks eventually picking up her phone and typing something furiously.

If he’s honest he wouldn’t have minded her postponing this, or canceling it, whatever. He knows she’s not going to let it go though. Eventually, he’s going to end up in this situation, the receiving end of one of her meetings. And he’s not scared of her it’s just what she’s going to say that worries him. It’s one thing to _think_ that your maybe your boss thinks you’re too dumb to do your job right, it’s a really shitty ending to his week to actually hear the words. That’s the sort of stuff you can’t just leave at your desk to have a nice weekend.

“Ok. Let’s go.” She says putting her phone down and giving him her full attention. “Why did you come to work here?”

Wow. She’s going straight for it. Her face is totally unreadable while she waits for an answer and he can’t fight the doubt in his gut. Obviously, he tries to bullshit his way out of getting fired at this point.

“Well, I mean. The company has got such a good reputation of-”

“Dean?” Thank god she stopped him because he had no idea where he was taking that sentence.

“Yeah?”

She smiles, the first time he’s seen her smile all day, and it’s more soothing than he knew he needed. “I’m sorry this is my fault. I forgot you haven’t had one of these with me before so I’ll be honest. I’ve never even looked at the template HR sent me. I’m really only looking to have a conversation with you, just be honest with me. It all stays in this room and I swear this isn’t a test.”

He lets out a giant puff of air he didn’t know he’d been holding in and his shoulders drop thankfully. It’s pretty impossible not to smile back at her or be sucked into her pleas for honesty. He lets himself get too comfortable with her so it all tumbles out too easy. So quickly that his brain doesn’t even approve the words.

“I really, really hated temping, getting treated like a thing and passed about for whatever. There was one guy who didn’t even bother to learn my name. He just called me ‘sport’”

She wrinkles her nose as she nods, “that I believe.” He also sees the flash of guilt that breezes across her face then and wonders what it’s for, she’s called him Dean since day one. “I think we’ve all been there, I know I have. How are you liking it here though? I know the hours aren’t great but how are you finding the actual work?”

He struggles to think about the question straight away because he’s distracted by her admission of being a temp herself. He’d forgotten that she didn’t pop up in the world as this put together sales VP that she is. It kind of blows his mind to imagine her running around after someone else getting them lunch and printing out memos but he supposes she had to start somewhere. The pads of his fingers itch like her story is something for him to scratch at. But this meeting isn’t for him to ask about her, as much as he wants to.

“It’s fine, great even. Everyone is great, the work is great. There was a lot to learn but I think I’ve got a handle on it. I guess everything is just-”

“Great?” She finishes his sentence with a grin and he’s not even bothered by being cut off. He should be, would be usually. Except he’s not because she’s joking with him and slowly it’s starting to turn into an actual conversation which means his palms aren't nearly as clammy as they had been then he’d come in.

“I know this question is going to sound like I’m trying to trick you but I promise I’m not. Where do you want to be in five years? Or, should I say, do you know what you want to do?”

He’s too comfortable again. That and he heard her say shit earlier. His answer is so automatic and honest that he doesn’t really have time to censor it, “not a fucking clue.”

His eyes widen the second it slips out and she freezes for way too long.

And then something unexpected happens. She laughs.

He’s heard her laugh before but he’s never been the one making her laugh. Maddy gets it out of her when they have lunch every now and then, and she’s laughed down the phone. This one is for him though, a laugh he’s never heard before. It’s all unexpected and coming from somewhere deep in her belly, and he did that. His embarrassment melts into a relieved chuckle of his own.

“That might be the most honest answer I’ve ever heard.” She manages through the amusement as it dies in her throat. She has to suck in a quick puff of air for how suddenly it had hit her and pride flutters in his chest.

He shrugs, “it’s true I guess. It’s why I put up with temping anyway. I wanted to see what was out there.”

Now there’s something determined on her face. “I’d really love to help you figure it out if you’re ok with that? I think we can put a plan together so you can try your hand at a few things. How does that sound?”

He really hadn’t expected this. He’d almost called in sick today to avoid sitting in this room. And he knows he hasn’t got the feedback part yet but he can’t imagine she’d be offering him this if she didn’t have some modicum of faith in him. She makes it so easy for him to nod gratefully as he answers, “that would be awesome.”

* * *

“Y/N?”

You look up from your desk and before you notice the source of your name you see how the lights of the office are brighter against the darkness flooding in the windows. The last time you’d looked up it was daylight. Only after being crushed at having lost half a day to your panic, do you notice Charlie. Not for anything she’s done, but she’s probably the last person you want to see considering today’s various email chains.

You plaster a smile on your face as best you can, trying to maintain your usual light conversation with her, “now I know it’s serious since you’ve come to see me.”

She grins that same loveable grin that she always seems to have for the few people she genuinely enjoys talking to. You’re torn between being pleased she’s still smiling at you like that and thinking that it makes all of this so much harder.

“Word on the street is that you haven’t left this office all day so I figured this was the only way to get some face time.”

Word on the street? You glance at the clock on your computer, 8:45pm, and then you look over at the desk on the other side of the glass where Dean is still sitting. Not without a yawn you notice. 

“Come in, take a seat, just give me a second.” You jump up with more fire than you’ve had all day and stand at the door where Charlie had been leaning. “Dean, go home.”

His head whips round to look at you, an argument on his lips no doubt, but you belay it before he has the chance, “call me a car for nine-thirty and then get out of here. Please. It’s Friday night.”

He nods, his curled lips vaguely apologetic even though it’s your fault he’s still sitting there for crying out loud. 

“See you Monday.” You order again before shutting the door behind you, he doesn’t need to hear this conversation while he’s going home.

“I’m surprised you’re still talking to me.” You don’t waste any time avoiding the elephant in the room once you and Charlie are alone. 

She laughs and you’re genuinely surprised by her attitude, you knew she was pretty laid back but she had to turn the website off five hours ago because the distribution center is out of stock of the top 50 lines. Because of _your_ sale.

“You’re one of the few people around here I actually like talking to, besides, it’s only stock. Nothing wrong with my actual site. Now Doug? Yeah, he might be mad at you.” There’s a playful twinkle in her eye, no one truly likes Doug after all. 

You grimace even though you don’t want to, you want to stay calm and collected but he already thought you were public enemy number one before this all happened. “When isn’t he mad at me?”

Charlie sits forward in her chair so that her elbows rest on the edge of your desk and her head sits innocently in her hands, “I only wanted to check you’re ok. I know you’re probably sitting up here blaming yourself-“

“It’s my fault, so yeah. I am.”

She purses her lips and raises an eyebrow for being interrupted, “it could have have happened to anyone. And you’re smart enough to know that at the end of the day we just made money. Yeah, we’ve got some issues to fix but we’re still turning a profit.”

The smile you crack is half appreciative and still half fake. “It didn’t happen to anyone though, it happened to me. Micheal is going to have my ass. He wants to see me when he’s back in next week.”

“Ass?” She can’t stop herself from beaming with a mock affronted tone, “Y/N! Such language in the office!”

Your eyes dart about dramatically as you lean in to whisper, “fuck off Charlie.”

It sets you both off and for the first time since the now infamous **_RE: The Website_** email chain you feel genuinely lighter. Yes you’d still have to deal with Michael next week and yes you’d be working all day tomorrow to help try and find stock in any of your stores to transfer over, but as you laugh with Charlie you can’t help but think that maybe you have at least one more friend in this company than you previously thought.

* * *

Everyone hates the dick that runs off the subway as soon as the doors open, pushing past people and diving through crowds with no consideration for anyone else, like they’re the only one trying to get to work.

Today Dean is that dick.

He’s late, again. While it might be the second time there’s no backup today. No Maddy to cover for him until he arrives. And it’s only 30 minutes but that’s enough that she’ll already be there, wondering where he is and sending out a search party for her goddamn coffee probably. He’s one of the few people that has seen her before her first coffee of the day and he knows how much she needs it. If she’s a little crazy the rest of the time she’s fucking certifiable without caffeine.

It’s kind of deja vu when he arrives. It’s normal that he’s the first person on the floor but it’s still empty when he arrives, the same as his first day. He looks at his watch to confirm and, yep, he’s definitely late and she should definitely be here. His movements are slow and cautious like she’s waiting to pounce attack from somewhere with an empty mug in her hands, except she doesn’t. He makes it all the way to his desk, his messenger bag dropped unceremoniously at his feet and still nothing. It’s only once he logs into his computer with an overhasty sigh that he sees it, a new email at the top of his inbox.  

**Got called into an emergency meeting, won’t be back till 9. Cancel my 8am call.**

Fuck. He is so fucked. It’s Monday morning and he’s late but worse than that, she’s gone into a two-hour meeting without a drop of caffeine in her system. She didn’t even sign her name, which, she always does. She’s hot on that email etiquette shit even when she’s firing one out from her phone.

He looks down at his bag and wonders if he should even bother being here when she gets back before he remembers that meeting with her on Friday. She’d given him real work to do, she’d made promises to get him experience in other departments, but mostly she’d been normal. Like an actual normal person, halfway to being a friend, and that’s what he’s clinging to. That version of her wouldn’t fire him for being half an hour late. Once the panic subsides he thinks the crazy version wouldn’t either.

Pinging open the meeting room calendar he sees that it’s that dick Doug who’s booked the room and his decision is made right there. There’s no way she’ll survive and he doesn’t intend to leave her to suffer more than necessary. So, he makes her usual, with an extra shot by way of apology, and heads to the elevator. She didn’t say do not disturb or anything and he’ll just knock, take it in and leave. Let Doug hate him, as long as she doesn’t.

The biggest challenge is not spilling hot coffee over himself when the elevator chugs to life and then stops two floors up with an equally bracing shudder, but this is not his first rodeo and Dean has nimble fingers. After surviving the trip knocking on the meeting room door is no problem at all, he doesn’t even hesitate.

“Come in.” It’s muffled by the wood but it’s definitely a male voice that orders him in.

Maybe he would have hesitated if he’s known that the entire VP team was in here. Or maybe he wouldn’t have come faster when he sees the look on Y/N’s face.

They’re all sat like any other meeting except they all seem a little more constipated than normal. And they’re all facing her. She’s sitting there flushed with what looks like shame, her forehead resting in one hand as if she can barely hold her own head up to face them. Dean has no clue what’s going on but he doesn’t like it.

It takes her three seconds to look up and spot him at the door but it feels like three hours. It’s worth the wait anyway because as flustered and broken as she looks staring into the table her face melts when she looks at him. She smiles big and bright and for a moment it reaches all the way to her eyes. And she’s not even looking at the coffee in his hand.

“Sorry, just came to bring you this.” He says to her, ignoring the other men in the room who’s sphincters appeared to have tightened even more at his interruption.  

She nods, “thank you, you’re a lifesaver.” He can tell she means it and he thinks it’s about more than the coffee.

He smiles back at her and then straightens his face out to offer the briefest of acknowledgments to the other VP’s before leaving. He almost doesn’t go back to his desk when he’s out of the room. He considers setting up camp outside just in case she needs him or so he’s there when she gets out because she looks like she needs something, then he remembers that’s ridiculous. She’s his boss and tough as nails at that. Plus it’d probably be a waste of two hours.

When he gets back to their floor he’s surprised to see someone sitting on his desk. Not at it, on it. She turns to him at the sound of his footsteps and beams.

“You must be Dean!”

He knows the voice as soon he hears it since he talks to her at least once a day. Although he had no idea the voice was attached to someone as hot as the woman standing in front of him.

“Sabina?

“Hey Dean,” she draws out his name while she sizes him up, ending with a satisfied grin as she reaches out to shake his hand. “It’s great to finally put a face to the voice.”

It might be half-past seven in the morning but Dean raises an eyebrow like he’s just bumped into her at a bar, “same here. I had no idea what I was missing out on.”

This woman in the short skirt and power jacket, that any other day he might call a boss bitch, giggles and then pouts her lips at him for eliciting the reaction.

“So, where is our boss?” He doesn’t miss the reminder that Sabine isn't his boss.

“Stuck in a meeting, she won’t be back for over an hour.”

* * *

Dean not being in the office when she arrived that morning had been disconcerting. Doug calling her within five minutes and summoning her to a meeting had been terrifying. The room itself, the faces and the conversation had been hell on earth. It was, of course, a thinly veiled ambush. An outlet for the other VP’s to vocalise their displeasure at the sheer amount of work her problem would require from all of their teams. Doug’s being the hardest hit. Him already hating you the most. You’re surprised he wasn’t spitting bile by the end.

You want to say it was better once they got it out of their system but that would imply that they stopped with the aggression. Even once you were all talking logistics and solutions they couldn’t hide their frustration. You didn’t even want to think about the eye rolls and mutters when you got up in the front of the room and lead the charge in making a list of tasks and assigning jobs. There was no appeasing them, not even by taking more than you should yourself.

You get it. You messed up. Although that wasn’t really harsh enough, you fucked up. Even if you kind of didn’t. You did the research and even in your worst case scenarios, this being one of them except for the shutting the website down part, the margins weren’t terrible. Yes, there would be a slight knock-on effect for selling that quantity at a sale price but you still sold the stock.

It’s not enough. If you try and point that out, or talk about the fact that you’d still made money they brought it back to the shame of it all. It’s such bad PR. Social media is raking us over the coals. Commercial suicide.

And people say women are dramatic.

Thankfully you’re all out ten minutes early, probably because they all need to go and think up some more insults for later. Regardless you feel like you’re floating when you get back to your floor. Freedom does that to a girl. Other people have started arriving now and Dean is at his desk typing away. He seems surprised when you stop in front of him and his eyes flick to the time in the corner of the screen.

“Sorry. I really don’t have a good excuse. My alarm…”

You hold your hand up with a smile, which is much easier to do out of that room, “it’s fine. You start work two hours earlier than anyone else just to be here for me. Just text me next time?”

He rubs the back of his neck as he agrees but stops as you try to walk away.

“Sabina is here. Well, not here, she went downstairs but she’ll be back at nine. Said she just wanted half an hour?”

You feel yourself perk up a little at this information. Sabina would be incredibly helpful right now and considering her sales area includes fifth, which still has the sale on, she could potentially be bringing you good news.

“That’s actually perfect, can you send her straight in when she gets back please?”

“Sure thing.”

You look at the lock screen of your phone and note the time as you slump into your comfortable chair. You have seven minutes to breathe and try to forget the last two hours. Well, not forget since you have a considerable list of actions points from the meeting, but forget the experience anyway. You have seven minutes to try and expel the embarrassment and failure that clings to you.

Michael isn’t back in town till Thursday so that gives you three days to fix this. If the website isn’t back up before he arrives you will be a thousand percent done here. You’re actually fairly confident that as long as the site is back up then you’ll be fine. But if you’ve made the mess and not cleaned it up? That would be a cause for concern.


	5. What I've Been Looking For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DICK PIC AHOY!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mikey is a total sleeze

Your hands smooth over the skirt of your dress for what must be the millionth time. It’s shorter than you’d normally wear. You haven't just taken your hair out of a ponytail today but it’s loosely curled at your shoulders, and today’s make up is something you found on a youtube tutorial.

Unlike every other time, you’re not ashamed. You know nothing will ever happen but you need to work every angle you have. The men play golf with Michael, or they go for drinks you aren’t invited to because you suspect, those drinks take place in upscale strip clubs. They have their ways to play him, this is your option. Look pretty for him.

“He’s ready for you now.” Jo’s voice halts your hand as it was about to pick at a thread barely loose in your hem.

“Thanks, Jo,” you offer her a warm smile remembering that she has to dress to impress every day. You make a mental note to check in with her more often, stuck up here with him.

The door is heavier than you remember but that may just be the thump of your heart adding to the weight. “Y/N Y/L/N as I live and breathe. Don’t you look lovely today?”

He’s sitting in his desk chair with a grin on his face like it’s Christmas morning and you’re the bike he’s always wanted to ride.

“Good morning sir,” your heels thud even on the carpet of his office and if you concentrate on that then you won’t see his Cheshire cat smile. “How was your trip? I take it the East coast is having a productive quarter?’

This isn’t you at all. Your nerves are buzzing away, making your stomach churn and beads of sweat crawl down the back of your neck. Years ago you tucked away the nervous girl persona in favor of a strong, respectable exterior. And your sleepless night had been spent convincing yourself of what you already knew. It would be fine, the website is back up after multiple stock transfers and you’ve done far more good for this company than this hiccup has done bad. But tell that to your nausea.

“Not as productive as us although, I hear that our boost in sales came at a bit of a cost.” That makes your leg, that’s crossed over the other, start to tap at nothing in the air.

“Unfortunately there were some unforeseen stock issues, sir.”

“Unforeseen stock issues? Y/N you had to take down the website for _days_. Do you realize how embarrassing that was for me? Sitting with Raphael while it all happens? Do you know why we’re the biggest sales territory?”

“Of course, because we have responsibility for online. For the country.” Your head is dipped low, eyes only darting up occasionally instead of holding your own. This is what you’re here for, to take your punishment. Michael can’t have anyone thinking you got away with this.

He hums to himself and the next time you look up you notice how dark his eyes are, “and what did I say to you when you came and pitched me this idea?”

You swear you can hear your gulp echo around the room. You’d almost completely forgotten about that, “you said- sir- that I needed to have a fall guy.”

“And do you?”

That about does it. The implication that you might pin this on someone else gives you back an ounce, at least, of your confidence, “with all due respect I don’t need one sir. I’ve fixed everything, Charlie’s happy, Gabe is dealing with the fallout on social. The only person who isn’t happy is Doug but, frankly, when is Doug ever happy?”

You can’t believe you just said that. Just as much as you can’t believe that Michael seems pleased by it.

He lets out a short bark of a laugh, “You’d disappointed me so far but I was hoping you’d bring a little fire with you today. You know I’ve always liked that about you.”

He’s never quite been as blatant as he is right now, leaning forward on his elbows and undressing you with his eyes. All you manage is a questioning, “sir?”

“I know, I know. I’m not supposed to say it but I think it might be my favorite things about you, always so quick-witted, full of spunk.” He raises his eyebrow, the last words all slow and measured, and your nausea becomes a very, very real concern.

Your eyes widen in fear of what might be about to happen so you attempt to get yourself out of this as fast as possible, “is there any specific questions I can answer about the website?”

“Trying to get out of here so soon Y/N?” There’s still a note of playfulness as if you might say no and offer to stay.

“Yes, sir- I mean, only because I’m so busy and I have a lot of work to catch up on.” Your chest is rising and falling faster now, what feels like the edge of a panic attack threatening to close your airways.

His mouth straightens and he rolls his eyes, you’ll never be sure if it’s because he noticed your reaction or thought better of himself. But you’re grateful as he groans unhappily, “yes, go. I’ve caught up on most things through email, but I’d like a summary and preventative measures presented at the roundtable on Monday.”

Your head flops up and down in agreement and you scurry to leave, not looking back. IT would be a very dangerous moment to look back at him. 

Once you’re on the other side of the door you find yourself panting to try and steady your breathing. Jo jumps up from her desk to place a cautious hand on your shoulder. “Are you ok Miss Y/L/N?”

There’s something about the look in her eye that makes you feel sicker than you had in that room and as much as you hate to leave her you know you need to get off of this floor, now. “Yes. I’m fine. Thanks, Jo.”

When you get back to your office you’re only sitting there for a minute before Dean arrives, you’d come in earlier without warning him that you were meeting Michael, so he’s not late but you’re still very pleased to see him. His presence is, dare you say it, both calming and protective. Even if he’s your assistant and you shouldn’t rely on him for either of those things.

“Miss Y/L/N?” he asks, clearly confused to find you already here.

“Dean,” you let out a relieved smile. “I came in early to meet with Michael and…”

You don’t know how to finish the sentence because you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to explain the shame and fear that feels like it’s consumed you, especially to a man. Suddenly you don’t think it matters what you’d say. Just the mention of Michael’s name causes Dean to eye you and the way you’re dressed before his jaw clenches tightly.

“No, it’s not. I would never.” But it dies on your lips as his back straightens and he avoids your eyes.

“I’ll just go make you coffee, I’m sure you need it.”

Just like that, you wish you weren’t based on the twelfth floor. It’s far too high up to have the ground swallow you whole.

* * *

**What would you do to me if I were there big boy?**

That pulls a groan out of him. God fucking damn that text and the picture she sends, her in a skin-tight dress that she might as well not be wearing considering how little it leaves to the imagination, drink in hand and a fake pout on her lips. He can just about make out other people around her, the club she’s at with her friends and the bar she’s leaning against for support. But none of that matters with the way her arms are straightened in front of her, squeezing her cleavage to the camera for him.

He’s meant to be out himself, he should be in some badly lit room with a beer in his hand. And he’d probably of met up with her after he was plenty buzzed. They’d have pretended they didn’t know each other and he’d have fucked her into the wall of the bathroom, or back at her place. Or both.

And yet here he was. Sitting on his bed with his laptop open, working. Saturday night and he was working because Y/N had given him a report to write. She’d stopped him before they left on Friday, when he could finally look at her again after the Michael thing, and she’d given him some actual responsibility. He’d spent Friday night looking at his laptop willing something to happen but nothing had so here he is trying again. She hadn’t specifically asked him to do it tonight, she was careful about that and he thinks it’s because she genuinely didn’t want him working over the weekend. But she needed it Tuesday so he wanted to give it to her Monday. In case it was all wrong and needed rewriting, obviously.

So, he’s got to live with Sabina teasing the fuck out of him because he’s on a self-imposed lockdown.

**Looking like that sweetheart? Better question is what wouldn’t I do to you?**

He’s not even thrown his phone back down when it beeps again.

**Tell me handsome.**

He grins, wondering how drunk she is as he types back.

**You mean after I’ve peeled that nonexistent dress off you? After I’ve licked a slow fucking trail over your entire body? After I’ve tasted you and made you scream my name?**

He hopes that occupies her for a least a second but he finds it does nothing to help his hardening cock against the heaviness of his sweatpants.

**Yeah. After I’ve screamed your name loud enough to wake the neighbors. Then what’s your big move?**

Fuck. His computer gets thrown beside him, uncomfortable as it is on his lap now anyway, while his hand reaches down to palm himself through the soft material. Leaving one hand free to type.

**Remind me on Monday that I need to speak to Charlie and Gabe, preferably at the same time. And please can you remember to speak to IT about the broken projector first thing Monday, I’ll need it for the roundtable.**

He is used to his boss texting him at random times. She’d text him at 3am on Wednesday telling him to order five expensive fruit gift baskets. No explanation, no recipient or anything. Just order the gift baskets. But why did she have to text him now, when he’s got his hand on his dick and filth on his mind?

He fires back an **OK** before flicking back to Sabina’s message. Usually, if he acknowledges Y/N’s message she panics, says she’s sorry and leaves him alone instead of continuing to send random requests his way.

I **’m gonna pound into you baby. I’m gonna bounce you up and down on my dick until you’re begging me to stop because you just can’t take anymore. And then I’m gonna flip you over and keep going until you forget your own damn name.**

**Are you thinking about doing that to me D? You hard for me?**

He kicks off his sweats without thinking about it, fingers wrapped around his dick and letting out a groan that comes straight from his fucking balls.

He doesn’t even notice the text from Y/N that says she’s sorry for disturbing him so late on a Saturday as he opens up his camera. Snapping at least eight different pictures before he settles on one and clicks send.

It doesn’t take long, his hand wrapped around himself, fast pumps, eyes squeezed shut and thinking about that picture Sabina sent him, her curves in the darkness of the club and the soft lines of her cleavage until he comes quickly.

When he’s cleaning himself up he wonders why Sabina hasn’t messaged him back but writes it off as she’s had a few more drinks. She’s out living life unlike him. Besides his head is a little clearer now and since she’s stopped messaging maybe he can actually get some work done.

* * *

You’d put your phone down after you’d text him an apology. Whenever he texts you back it always seems to wake you from a stupor and remind you that he is not at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. You pay him well but you don’t pay him _that_ well.

When your phone beeps you assume it’s him telling you it’s fine and you have no inclination to feel embarrassed and guilty at having disturbed him any further so you ignore it. It’s not like anybody else would message you tonight. Sleep. That’s what you needed. You needed a chamomile tea and your Egyptian cotton sheets and the promise of a desperately needed Sunday morning.

And for your Saturday evening, you had that. Sleep and promises.

Then you had to go and wake up.

There’s one message from Dean when you open your bleary eyes which is unexpected since you’re an early riser but then you remember that it’s the message that came through the night before. You open it only to get rid of the notification.

When you do open it your cloudy, sleep-addled brain takes a whole minute, sixty entire seconds, to fathom what you are looking at. You’re comically squinting at the screen as your eyes adjust to being open and, by the time they do, you’ve been looking at a picture of his dick for a hot minute. Your face is far too close to the illuminated glass when your brain starts screaming. Your brain is screaming because your mouth doesn't have words.

You throw the phone down into the sheets you’re wrapped up in and jump out of the bed like the phone is on fire and now so is everything it touches.

He sent you a dick pic.

Something inside of you is logically trying to explain the situation away. It was an accident surely. It was obviously meant for someone else. Why on earth would your assistant send you a dick pic? Because it was a mistake that’s why. You should delete it and never mention it and continue on with your life like nothing happened.

But once the less logical, downright idiotic, part of your brain stops screaming it has some points of its own to add to the argument.

If it’s such a mistake why didn’t he follow it up with an apology? You’ve sent things you didn’t mean to before, not nudes granted, but things you didn’t want to send and you’ve always followed them up with an immediate apology. An explanation typed out before the ‘delivered’ notification even hits.

Maybe… maybe he wanted you to see it? Maybe this is how he tells you that he knows how you feel. Maybe he feels it too.

You’ve had unsolicited dick pics before, you don’t live under a rock obviously and there were those few months you tried Tinder, but never before has one sent you into such turmoil. Then again you’ve never had a dick pic from Dean Winchester before.

The shower is too hot today. Your sky in the high apartment is too constricting and lonely. You get dressed in the first thing you find in your closet that isn’t work attire and wrap your damp hair in a bun before leaving your apartment. Without your phone. Just to feel your feet pound the concrete pavement and put space between you and ‘it’.

You eat breakfast in the first place you see advertising pancakes, and to your chagrin, sausage. Phallic-shaped foods were the last thing you needed right now. You order a side of bacon and eat without tasting any of it, except for the bitter coffee that leaves the taste of filter paper on your tongue.

The phone is still there on your bed. Silent and taunting and with no other messages when you get home.

It’s an accident when you see it again. You’d clicked off your phone so suddenly that the message app is still open when you unlock the thing. The picture still filling your screen and as fast as you swipe it into the background so you can read your emails, it’s still burned into your retinas.

Your feelings for Dean make the whole situation more complicated. You tell yourself it’s your feelings, and not the picture itself, that makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Until now everything about Dean had been so theoretical. As if your feelings were objective rather than subjective. You were sure everyone would agree that, impartially, he is an incredibly handsome man. And yes, you think you could probably look at him for all the days that there were, but until now it was like appreciating fine art. You’d never felt your insides coil and tense at the thought of Dean Winchester’s body pushing you against the glass wall in your office.

Or had you? Was this denial again? Were you so good at compartmentalizing your feelings during the working day that you hadn't allowed yourself to feel that way?

Either way, the floodgates seemed to be well and truly open now. Because your phone has that picture. It’s there forever unless you delete it or drop your device from a great height. You lived at a great height but you had no plans to drop your phone over the balcony. So here you were squirming your thighs together on your bed, the edges of your denim shorts rubbing noisily as you did, while you pretended to be reading an article on the New York Times website that someone had emailed you. Until the scratch of denim is too much and you peel them down your legs leaving you in just your white panties with your completely bare legs sliding over your sheets.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen a dick before. It had been a while though. If you remember correctly it was months ago. January. Even that had been nothing more than poor choices and expensive wine. Some guy from a trendy nightclub the one time you happen to go out for drinks with an old friend. You didn’t make enough time for dating in between work. It was hard enough to find a good guy to date but it was impossible to find a good guy who was willing to wait for you to have time in your schedule.

You’d figured that’s why Dean was so attractive to you when he first arrived in the office. Deprivation. It had been a while and he was a handsome man. And not the usual stuffy, sexist men ten years your senior that you spent much of your days with. But you couldn’t keep up the pretense anymore. It was clearly more than that.

Dean wasn’t just attractive, he was hot. Crazy, ridiculous, keep you up at night hot. And he wasn’t even _just_ hot. He was, for all that you knew about him, likable and sweet and funny. He looked after you and you know it’s his job but it feels like more than that with him.

And now you knew what his dick looked like. How in gods name were you supposed to go back to work tomorrow?

* * *

He’s nervous okay? He knows he shouldn’t be. He knows the report is probably fine, it wasn’t anything too difficult. But he wants her to think it’s good so he sent it to her before lunch with an email explaining too many things that he now realizes were probably obvious to her.

It doesn’t help that she’s being weird. Like, she’s always a little weird, always a low level of crazy, but this is different. She’s jumpy. She keeps avoiding looking at him and more than a few times she’s rushed out of her office before he comes in to talk to her to go to a ‘meeting’. As if she’s forgotten that he books her meetings. She had a surprisingly free calendar today.

Maybe not surprisingly free, she’s got her roundtable with the other senior dicks tomorrow so she’s preparing for that. He’s not thinking about it though. Just thinking about the scene he walked in on last week, or her after the meeting with Michael? Either one is enough to set his teeth grinding even if he has no reason to be mad about anything.

Or does he? It’s ok to be protective of her right? He knows she’s his boss but it is kind of his job to look after her.

It’s been a nerve-wracking afternoon but she doesn’t email him back or call him in to talk about it and that’s bad enough until Sabina calls. He smirks at the phone when her name flashes and answers with a confident, “what’s a nice girl like you doing calling a phone like this?”

It doesn’t matter if it’s actually funny, she laughs. They half talk about work and half make obviously flirty references to each other until he asks her about Saturday night.

“How long were you out, sweetheart?”

He hears her sigh though he doesn’t see it obviously, “oh ages. We stopped drinking around eleven and just danced till the place closed. It sucked you didn’t come meet me.”

He definitely notices how ‘they’ danced but ‘she’ wanted to meet him and yeah, he wishes they’d had sex too. He missed sex, he hasn’t done it in weeks.

“If you stopped drinking should I be offended you didn’t text me back?” His tone is teasing but there’s a note of vulnerability behind it. 

His question is met with very genuine confusion. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who didn’t text me back. Why do you think I didn’t call till now? I was trying to play it cool.”

His mind replays the whole night, the conversation, his hand around his fucking dick, all happens in his head in a nanosecond. He knows what he sent and he’s so sure about it that he keeps pushing.

“I didn’t exactly text sure, but I sent you a- ahem- picture.”

“I’d been drinking but I wasn’t that drunk. I think I’d remember the hot guy from the office sending me a picture of _anything_.”

Her emphasis tells him that she knows exactly what he sent, or thought he sent, and she was into it. He leans back in his chair until it squeaks a little, phone in his hand and thumb idly flicking through his messages while he cradles his desk phone at his shoulder. He’s about to send it properly again, maybe even stay on the phone to hear her receive it when he spots something.

Just above Sabina’s message is her name. His bosses name. And his head is flooded with the memory of her ill-timed message. And underneath her name is three grey little words that will haunt his nightmares. **  
**

**Attachment: 1 Image**.

“Sabina. I’ve gotta go.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to go.” He doesn’t wait for her to say anything else before he slams the receiver back in place. His thumb hovers over the message, afraid to click it and see what he knows is there. Shit. No wonder she’s been avoiding him all day. He bets those secret meetings were quick trips to HR or something and to further procrastinate opening the message he tries to remember if she had her phone with her when she went to any.

Eventually though his morbid, super fucking morbid, curiosity beats him down until he finally clicks on her name, staring at the message through squinted eyes like it doesn’t exist if he can’t see it. Her message pops up anyway. Her message saying she’s sorry for disturbing him and then, for no goddamn reason at all, he sends back a picture of his dick.

He sent his boss a fucking picture of his fucking dick.

He hits the lock screen as he drops his phone to his desk. He has no idea how he is still sitting here now, why he wasn't already escorted from the building. She works all weekend, she could have text him yesterday and told him not to bother coming in today. Her behavior makes so much sense at least. She’s not being weird, she’s probably just freaked out by the cocky shit that sends a dick pic and then shows up for work like nothing happened.

God, he must be the weird one to her. Smiling at her all day and trying to be normal, when the whole time she knows.

His eyes dart to the side, eyeing her as much as he can without moving his head but she’s just sitting there. Typing away. Probably his letter of termination or something. He’s going to miss this job, sure the hours sucked and she’s a fruit loop with an instruction manual written about her but the money is great and he doesn’t hate everyone that works here. And he doesn’t like the idea of leaving her without someone even for a few days.

The next few hours are spent looking for a new job. If there’s one thing he's not doing it’s going back to temping but he also has this weird obligation. Until he’s _actually_ fired for sexually harassing her he’s still her assistant. Same rules apply and he can’t leave until she does. 

Slowly people start filtering out with a ‘bye’ as they pass. It’s not weird. They’re all used to seeing him stick around past five so the fact that he’s still sitting there after six when the floor finally empties out completely is not out of the ordinary.

He doesn’t know she’s been waiting all day for that, not until he hears her, unprompted for the first time that day, “Dean?”

This is it. She’s being her usual nice self about it even if he doesn’t deserve her consideration. Letting him save face by confronting him after everyone has gone.

He shuffles to her office door but he can’t see her face since she has her back to him. She’s leaning over a cabinet under the window and he can’t see what she’s doing. She hears him though, he notices the way her ears twitch to listen for his footsteps before she speaks again, “take a seat.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” in the seconds it takes him to sit down he decides to play it cool until he can’t anymore. “Did you need something? I can order you dinner?”

There’s a distinctive sound of liquid pouring into a glass and he rolls his eyes. She doesn’t even trust him to get her a drink anymore. Then again he knows what he did. He shouldn’t be trusted.

“No thank you, Dean. That’s not… Do you know why I waited till now to talk to you? Do you know why I called you in here?”

His throat feels like sandpaper for how quickly it dries out. Of course. She’s always matter of fact about stuff like this. It’s time he is too. Straightforward and honest.

“If I was taking a guess, it’s because I accidentally sent you a dick pic?”

The pouring stops and something heavy and made of glass thuds against the wood. She leans forward a little, hunching over whatever she had in front of her and he notices that her hair swings down her shoulders like it had last week when she met Michael.

He’s not sure what’s just happened until her voice tumbles out; a mix of meek, sad and bewildered, “accidentally?”


	6. Breaking Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy sexual tension batman!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd as always babes.

You haven’t been able to look at him all day like you’re a schoolgirl with a crush. Except that’s not it. Because this is more than a crush by now, it’s becoming a need that lingers deep in your belly and tightens whenever he looks at you. And, lest you forget, you have his dick on your phone. This is so much more than a daydream.

So, considering these new feelings that fill you up it’s not unsurprising that you’ve had to excuse yourself more than once. Whenever you’ve seen him jump up to give you a run down. You’ve not actually worked properly all day, which is a problem in itself, but you’re so distracted by trying to avoid Dean and trying to look busy that you’ve had no time to be _actually_ busy.

It’s a miracle when everyone else leaves. Sally hangs on the longest and you hear her tell Dean that she just needs to finish this one thing. Whatever ‘it’ is takes her till 5:45pm. You hadn’t wanted to keep him this late although, based on what you’re about to do, maybe you’re hoping to keep him a lot later.

He’s not looking in so you allow yourself a moment to pace and calm your nerves. Big deep breaths in and nice slow ones out. This will be fine. You’re just two people, it’s after 5 so you’re just two random people. Which is a lie, you’re still his boss, but you silence the logic side of your brain. She’s not involved in this plan. This is all the impulsive side of you and she’s going full steam ahead.

“Dean?” you call out trying your best to sound inviting but in a clearly suggestive way, using the last moment of alone time to unbutton your shirt enough to display the top of your breasts.

When you see him get up to come in you move to the cabinet behind your desk and start pulling out that nice bottle of wine someone tried to bribe you with last Christmas. Alcohol would help this situation, or at least, give you the courage to go through with this. The cork is pulled out with a satisfying and reassuring pop when the sound of his footsteps echoes behind you.

“Take a seat,” is all you manage as you work on finding the glasses.

“Miss Y/L/N. Did you need something? I can order you dinner?”

You tamp down the flutter of hope in your chest at just the sound of his voice. Maybe when this is all over you’d remember to ask him how he stays so calm. Sending you the picture he had, how has he been so normal all day, so casual?

“No thank you, Dean. That’s not… Do you know why I waited till now to talk to you? Do you know why I called you in here?” You are certainly not casual. You’re nervous and it sticks to your voice like you’re still in middle school and about to play seven minutes in heaven for the first time. In fact, you think you might be more nervous now and you haven’t even looked at him yet.

Your question is met with a beat of silence while you start pouring, concentrating on the deep crimson liquid as it swirls into the glass gives you a brief reprieve from the worried thoughts inside your head.

Just as you start to wonder if he even likes red, or drinks wine at all, he finally answers your question, “If I was taking a guess, it’s because I accidentally sent you a dick pic?”

The bottle thuds onto the cabinet in front of you, whether it’s because you’re shocked or angry is a mystery. You just know that the sound of glass hitting wood reverberates up your arm and echoes around your skull.

Your logical, sensible side comes out of the quiet recesses of your mind to point out that she was right all along. You immediately hand her the wheel, only she’s responsible enough to get you out of this. You needed a plan, an escape route that explained away the two glasses of wine you’ve just poured and doesn’t involve taking a headfirst dive out of the window in front of you.

“Accidentally?” You don’t know why you need it confirmed. You don’t need to hear him say it again. The first time hurt enough, you already feel like a fool for thinking someone like him could ever think about looking twice at someone like you.

“Yeah,” you can tell the awkwardness in his voice stems from still talking to your back but you’re not quite ready to turn around yet. “Well, I was kind of sending it to someone else,” of course he was, “when your message came through and I didn’t check before I…erm…”

“Before you sent me a picture of your…” The word gets caught in your throat. Minutes ago you would have said it in a sultry tone through pouty lips, now you can’t even finish the sentence. Maybe he’ll read your silence as judgment but it actually comes from a place of embarrassment. Or total humiliation is more like it. You’d spent an entire day yesterday grinning like an idiot because of Dean. The guy you were absolutely not supposed to like, but the man you liked anyway, the man who made you feel as warm as if you’d been standing in the sun, had picked you. Except, obviously he hadn’t.

There’s a quick quell of jealousy that almost makes you ask who he _was_ sending it to but not only is that entirely inappropriate, you’re also not sure it would do you any good to know.

Finally, you swing around more violently than you had intended, doing everything you can to control the quiver in your voice. If you give in to that then you know the frustrated tears won’t be far behind.

“It doesn’t- it’s not important. I just wanted to let you know, no harm, no foul. It never happened.” That’s where you’d smile if you could. “I erm, I think I’m going to walk home. Goodnight Dean.”

You’re a blur of movement. You pick up your bag and phone in one quick action, thankful it’s the middle of summer and the air is still warm and bright this time of day. It means you don’t have a jacket to slow you down.

You’re halfway to the elevator when Dean calls after you but you ignore it. You ignore the way he says “Miss Y/L/N” and the burn it causes in your chest. It’s not Dean’s fault, he has no idea what he does to you.

It’s as you step inside and the metal doors start to close that he begins rushing towards you like the elevator will know his intentions, whatever they are, and stop. The doors don’t stop because you don’t press the open door button, and by the time he says “Y/N” it’s too late. The light of the office is squeezed to nothing as the metal doors meet and the shudder beneath your feet tells you that you’re already going down.

* * *

She’s gone faster than he can look into her face to try and read what’s wrong. He can tell she’s upset, obviously, he’s not a clueless dumbass. But he has no idea why she’s freaking out. She’s been glued to her desk for hours so it’s not one of the other bosses fucking with her like usual. He wants to figure it out but she’s too fast. She picks everything up and storms away with a good night.

He’s only relieved that he’s not getting fired for a second before he’s worried about her. She shouldn’t be walking home if she’s upset. He should get her the car, yeah, that’s what he’ll do.

When she’s cleared her office door he sees the two poured glasses of wine and they throw him. He had no idea that she had wine in her office, let alone glasses, and they’re sitting there untouched. She’s left them there for some reason and then his brain finally comes up with the important question, why are there two?

“Miss Y/L/N?!” He calls after her from his spot where his eyes won’t stop staring at the wine in pristine, unused glasses.

She doesn’t answer so he finally drags his eyes away to see her stepping into the elevator. That’s when he starts running. She’s upset, maybe, and there’s wine, definitely, and he needs to know why the two things fit together.

But he’s not quick enough, even though her lips form this perfect ‘o’ as the doors close and even if he can practically hear the gasp as he says her name, it still doesn’t stop the doors closing.

He stops himself short of slamming into the metal, only momentarily considering taking the stairs, he’d never make it. And he’s not sure why he’s so concerned with making it at all. It’s more than answers, there’s something in him that needs to find out why her chin quivered in the seconds before she left. He needs to know and he needs to make sure it doesn’t happen ever again.

Then he remembers, her phone, she’s never without it. He rushes back to his desk and presses the speed dial button to call her but it rings out. Then he tries calling from his cell but worse, it cuts to voicemail after one ring.

She saw his name and declined the call.

For some reason that actually hurts him a little in a way that he doesn’t know how to handle. It’s like being winded except it’s not a physical sensation, it’s just the air being knocked out of him without any driving force.

Dean isn’t an awkward person normally. Except for right now. He’s pacing on the spot, pushing his weight from foot to foot and scratching the back of his neck like it’ll help. He doesn’t know what to do now or where to go from here. It would be too questionable to follow her home. Awkward and stalker-y. And not forgetting he sent her a picture of his dick, if that didn’t get him fired then lurking in the shadows and following her home would do. Or it would land him in jail. Semantics.

But he can’t just go home.

Dean does what any guy who’s trying to be good at his job would do. He walks into her office and clears away the wine and glasses before he leaves.

He doesn’t know as he’s doing it that he needn’t of rushed. Because the next day he rolls into work and leaves a coffee on her desk. It’s two hours later, when he’s getting nervous and frustrated, that he gets an email.

 **I’m working from home today. Please send my apologies and cancel all my meetings, Michael already knows about the roundtable, I’ll be dialing in.**  

As he sits there re-reading the email in disbelief that she’s not coming in today there’s a sharp pang somewhere in his middle that he isn’t used to feeling. Or at least he hasn’t felt since his brother told him to leave. Rejection. It’s uncomfortable and stings, and only intensifies if he dares to look in the direction of her empty desk.

It’s as he’s looking at her desk like a lost puppy that he remembers; the wine, two glasses and the look on her face before she left. But there’s no fucking way right? There’s no way that it was the same rejection on her face that he’s feeling now. There’s no way those two glasses were for them both to share.

There’s no way she likes him. She’s too professional to let herself do something like that, so there’s no point in getting his hopes up. Wait. Getting his hopes up? Does he want to bone his boss?

* * *

You never take a day off sick. A few months into your straight out of college graduate job you broke your ankle and worked in the hospital while you were getting a cast put on. If you ever couldn’t make it to the office then you worked from home and were usually more productive without the distractions of other people interrupting you.

Today was a different story. You’re sitting in your pajamas at 8am with no intention of moving a muscle. Working from home today will consist of dialing into the roundtable, because you kind of have to, and then avoiding your responsibilities for the rest of the day.

The email to Michael is easy. It’s profusely apologetic and reminds him that you’d still be there remotely. You’d normally care what he’ll think of you. You’d normally be willed into going into the office so the rest of the management team doesn’t have an opportunity to think you weak. Today especially you should want to be there. They’ll all think you’re a coward; too afraid to take responsibility for your mistake in front of everyone.

But you don’t care what they think, you know you’re not a coward and that’s enough. You always knew the website issues wouldn’t get you fired. You’ve done too much good there. The stress and panic of the situation fuelled you to clean it all up that much faster but deep, deep down you hadn’t been worried about your job, so what’s missing one meeting? 

Because in your work you were confident in your abilities. You’d proven to yourself time and time again that you deserved to be where you were, even if others doubted you. You knew how to sell, how to analyze the market, how to lead a team. You deserved your title.

And they’re all wrong anyway. It’s not a meeting keeping you home today. It’s that other pesky thing that you’re not so confident in. _Feelings_.

You’re not a prude, it’s just, the last time you had any sort of substantial relationship with a person was back in college. Since then you’ve dated a few guys, but only long enough that one or both of you would break it off under the guise of being too busy, and you’ve had the occasional one night stand, but they’re never satisfying.

That’s why Dean, as a concept and a human being, is so terrifying. Not that you’re even sure you’re looking for a relationship it’s just, with him, it’s the first time you’ve felt anything like this in years. The attraction alone is unparalleled but then it’s also the way his face softens whenever you’re upset and trying not to show it like he knows you’re upset even if you’re hiding it. And then there’s the way he does the tiniest eye roll as if you won’t see it, when you’re being, let’s say eccentric. And then he gives in to your demands anyway.

You used to hope he gave in because of some personal connection, now you realize he was just doing his job.

The hours you’ve been awake so far have all been spent going over every interaction with Dean since he started working for you. Reevaluating every time that you wrongly interpreted as something more, when in fact he was just doing as he was told. It’s a horrifying trip down memory lane. Your stomach does somersaults, not the happy kind, and your face winces as you relive the night before in particular. The smell of fermented wine as it hangs in the air around you, the sound of liquid swirling around the glasses as you pour it, the causal lilt of his voice as he says “accidentally.”

It was an _accident_.

It’s not even personal. He’s not got anything against you. He didn’t even reject you properly because he never even considered you. God, you’re nothing more than his Michael.

Your phone rings and you pick it up to see the exact person you want to talk to most in the world right now, “come back and work for me?”

“Hello to you too. I would say how’s things but I already called your office and new-me said that you’re working from home. Since when do you work from home on roundtable day?”

She’s insufferable, maybe you should hang up. “Why do you still know my schedule so well?”

“I asked first.” You don’t need to see her to know what her face is doing, right now it’s pursed lips that are trying to get you to confess.

“It doesn’t matter. I did something stupid and I got invested and I just needed to take a step back and get my head straight. You sure you won’t come back?” The question is almost a whine.

Maddy is rarely distracted by your whiny voice, she’s immune after two years of listening to it. “What did you do and why is it the first I’m hearing of it?”

She knows it’s not the website because she already knows about the whole messy business. You went to lunch and lamented about it together and it was her that told you that Gabe wasn’t really mad, having your own spy in Marketing had it’s uses.

You don’t know what to say. You haven’t done any of your normal routines yet this morning so your brain isn’t awake enough to think of a lie quickly enough. In the pause, she lowers her voice to that tone that would get state secrets out of you, “Y/N?”

“IhaveamassivecrushonDeanandhesentmeapictureofhisdickbutitwasn’tformeandnowit’sweird.”

“What?”

You take a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth. The secret is already out there now, you just needed to slow the whole thing down to intelligible speeds, “I kind of, maybe, developed a crush on Dean. And I had it under control, I was happily repressing it when he sent me a dick pic over the weekend. I thought it meant, you know, rules be damned, he likes me too. So, yesterday I waited till everyone left and invited him into my office for some wine and then he let slip that it was an accident.”

You sound like a horny teenager when you say it out loud and you’re biting down nervously on your own lip while you wait for the verdict from your best friend.

“You know what could happen if this gets out?”

“Besides a potential sexual harassment suit? Oh yeah, just losing my job, credibility and future career.”

She lets our this hint of a laugh at the drama in your voice, “and you’re willing to risk all of that?”

“No! I mean, if he was actually interested I’d move him to a different department. I wouldn’t be his boss anymore, problem solved.”

Then she asks something you don’t see coming, “how do you know he’s not interested? You’re hot, crazy but hot.”

As soon as the words hit your ear you know where she’s going with this and your brain is two steps ahead but your mouth still cries out, “he said accidentally!”

“Oh, my beautiful, stupid friend. You’re his _boss_ , he’s not going to make a move on you unless he’s an idiot and if he’s an idiot then you don’t want him making a move on you. If you want to know once and for all if the guy likes you, which I’ve seen him and you _do_ want to know, then you need to make an actual move yourself, instead of just drooling over him.”

There’s a reason Maddy doesn’t work for you anymore. She’s too smart for her own good and she was wasted ordering your lunches. Thank god you made sure she was your friend before she left you.

“You’re right.”

“I often am.”

“Maddy, I think I love you.”

“I mean, it’s a good start but when you say it to Dean don’t scare him off with the ‘L’ word just yet.”

* * *

The clack of your black patent heels rings out with every precise step through the marble lobby of the building. You nod at Gary at the front desk, he’s used to seeing you leave the building, not entering it, but he doesn’t say anything beyond a mumbled greeting and a confused smile.

He’s not confused at the time, he’s confused by your appearance, not that you care. The stockings on your legs have seams that draw a line up the back of your calves and the pencil skirt is the shortest you own, but hugs the curves of your hips and thighs. Then there’s your shirt, it’s white and pristine but baggy, hanging from your shoulders and pinched at the waist where you’ve tucked it in. Underneath it is the shadow of a black bra that peaks out of your just enough undone buttons. It had taken you an hour to perfect ‘office sexy’, and then two glasses of wine to even consider leaving your apartment like this.

As per Maddy’s suggestion, you’d emailed Dean and asked him if he didn’t mind sticking around since you’d be popping into the office. Except her suggestion had been to call him and ask him to stay using your sexy voice. She’d proposed that before the wine so it seemed too mortifying to consider at that point. Now that you’re all curves and confidence and Dutch courage, you can’t believe you wimped out.

The elevator doors open at the press of a button, of course, the building is cleared by now. Except for Dean, waiting for you on the twelfth floor. Once inside you take a look in the mirror that reaches floor to ceiling in an attempt to make the small metal box seem bigger. You’d got as far as to say you look hot. The sight of yourself brings a smile to your face, slow and measured, in control. That’s what you were going to be, in control of this situation. Brave.

The elevator dings, crisp and loud, and then the doors open. Disappointingly, the office is empty.

You take cautious steps forwards towards your office as if he might pounce out from somewhere. Walking past each empty desk feels like a risk, he could be anywhere. Except he doesn’t know what’s going on, the last he saw of you was you storming out of here embarrassed yesterday. He has no reason to hide. It dawns on you that maybe he didn’t see the email, maybe he’d already taken advantage of you not being here and left already, or maybe, he’d seen the email and left anyway. Either way, your plan has failed.

The dizzying heights of your confident strut into the building fizzles into fallen shoulders and a dejected shadow across your face. You slump into your chair at your desk and pull out your phone with only a vague hope of finding a message or email. Since the hope is barely there it doesn’t leave you that far to fall when there are no new notifications.

There’s a creak from somewhere that raises your head from its lowly position. You only consider calling security for a second when a door opens at the end of the room and Dean comes through it, stopping in his tracks when he sees you. There’s no hesitation before your adrenalin reminds you of the woman you were, commanding the sidewalk minutes ago.

You spring from your seat and move around to the front edge of your desk, resting barely on the desktop, with your legs crossed and your palms on the wood under you. Shoulders back and chest out because you’re making a move after all.

He starts walking towards your office slowly, putting whatever was in his hands down on his desk but not taking his eyes off you. Just his eyes watching you so intensely is enough to cover your skin in goosebumps and make your mouth suddenly very dry.

“Miss-”

“Y/N.” You interrupt before he even starts the first syllable of your last name.

“Y/N,” he repeats as he leans against the glass doorframe looking you up and down. “I wasn’t expecting you today, luckily I saw your email.”

You nod slowly, still staring into his eyes as his teeth rake over his lower lip. You almost forget what you were here for except he’s what you’re here for and he’s right there.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind staying for a bit, I had something important I wanted to discuss with you.”

He pushes up off the door frame and closes the door behind him without looking away from you. Not that it makes a lick of difference in your glass office but the now enclosed space limits the air in the room making everything more _urgent_.

“What was it you wanted to talk about Y/N?”

You supposed that your name in his mouth wouldn’t make your thighs ache if he wasn’t your assistant. It’s so rare a word spoken by him that it feels as forbidden as he is.

“Would you mind closing the blinds first please?” This is his out. He could tell you that it’s inappropriate and leave. He doesn’t. What he does is give you a small nod and finally turn around to pull down the wall of blinds that give your office privacy when needed. The second you aren’t looking into his face anymore your chest heaves like oxygen is a new concept.

“Better?” He asks coyly taking a step towards you.

“Perfect. Thank you. About what I wanted to ask.”

He takes another step, he’s close enough that if you were to reach out you could touch him and on an exhale, that’s what you do. Your hand snaps to the tie around his neck before you have time to doubt yourself and, like every cliche that exists for this situation, you pull him into your body by the blue silk around his neck.

“I wanted to ask you about this picture you sent me.”

His eyebrows that shot up when you pulled him against you lower slightly, “yeah?”

His bow legs are either side of yours, his head dipped down towards you and his lips within reach. You push yourself up so that you’re whispering into his mouth, “I was wondering if there’s any chance you sent that to me on purpose?”

“Could be,” his breath is hot against your lips and warm rolling over your skin.

Your hand that isn’t still holding his tie like a leash curls up his chest and over his pulse, fingers scratching the hair at the nape of his neck, “I hope so. I liked it.”

Whether you pulled him that last half an inch or he crashed into you doesn’t matter. All you know is your lips meet, hungrily. Teeth and tongue clashing, and primal little moans that you pour into his waiting mouth.

* * *

She tastes like the red wine he’d poured away the night before. He laps at the sounds coming from her throat while he maps out inside of her mouth. His hands clasp at her waist and push her so she’s fully sitting on the desk, a little higher, a little easier for him to reach her lips and cover her body with his.

This isn’t what he was expecting when he read the email that she was coming in. He was in hopeful denial even when he saw her outfit. There was still something telling him to stop being stupid when she asked him to close the blinds. But now he’s kissing her and she’s not his boss anymore. She’s Y/N. She’s fucking sin and she kisses like it too.

She pulls back, barely, gasping and he cracks a grin at the sight. “Don’t know if I can go back to not doing that.”

A laugh comes out of her that he's not heard before, it’s small but relieved, “yeah we can-we can talk about that later maybe?”

“Later?” 

“I was thinking that we’ll go back to my apartment?” Her cheeks are pink, a fading embarrassment on her face for asking him over even when she’s dressed like _that_ , and kisses like _that_.

He swoops in again to press his lips to hers, quick and simple but distracting enough to bring her eyes back to his. “Good idea, don’t think your desk can take that kind of punishment.”

She gulps. It’s equal parts sexy and adorable, that’s the exact moment he knows he’s fucking done for.

“We’ll have to keep our hands off of each other to get out of here,” her hands smooth over his tie, tightening it in his collar again but they don’t leave him. Her fingers dance over the cotton of his shirt like she’s touching his skin. “Think you can manage that?”

He chuckles, “you’re the one who can’t keep her hands to herself.”

“Maybe you have a point. We might have to split up.”

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight…” He means it to. He’s not sure if he’ll make it to her place, let alone considering letting her walk away.

She laughs again and pushes him back enough to jump down to the floor. It’s the first time he sees the view from behind as she walks around the desk to get her bag. If he thought the front was tempting then the back is something else. He’s planning on peeling those goddamn stockings off of her legs with his teeth when she looks up at him with a megawatt smile.

“Ready to put on a show?”

They stumble to the elevator all hands and lips pressing to the skin each of them has on display, the floor is empty so they don’t need to be careful yet. As they go down that’s when they practice their self-control. He only cups her ass twice and she only grinds her body against him once.

When the doors open at the ground floor she’s somehow the picture of proper, even walking with the wiggle in her step that definitely isn’t there normally. She says goodnight to Gary with a straight face and adopts this ‘work voice’ to ask him if he’s booked the car or should she flag down a taxi.

His dick’s so frustrated at this point that he barely remember the word for ‘no’ so he just shakes his head instead, a substantial amount of disbelief in her acting abilities. How long has she been hiding whatever is happening between them?

“I’ll flag one down.” She smiles before trotting off a little faster. He suddenly remembers his promise to not let her out of his sight and takes this as a challenge.

“Night Gar.” Rolls off his tongue before he’s power walking after her.

Outside she’s walking a little down the street and away from the sight of reception with her arm in the air. Unsurprisingly a car pulls up almost immediately. He wraps his arms around her waist and whispers in her ear, “not trying to get away are you, sweetheart?”

He only second guesses the nickname once before he says it but he never expects the reaction he gets. She looks at him with eyes so dark that he can’t remember what color they should be. Her voice is forceful but in a way he hasn't heard before, “get in the car, Dean.”


End file.
